To see the fall, the bend at the waist,
The length of your hair set around you.
The parting of your lips, and the fleeting of hot breath.
It touches me, no tomorrow.
I know there is no tomorrow.
I am defeated again, inches from you,
from the branches, the muscles, the veins, the sinews.
Inches from all you used to say to me
From your mind that remembers the softness you gave to me.
I’m
Straining and reaching
receiving nothing from you.
To see the fall, the end of amour
The end of everything I was to you.
No tomorrow.
I would still try to be it for you.
Be zeal, be warmth, be tomorrow for you.
My bony hands, cold and reaching for you.
The porcelain wrist that used to feel
the leave-taking of your lips
Crooks to no tomorrow.
Crooks and croons, there’s no tomorrow.
There’s no tomorrow,
I pray you.